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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768051">A Gentleman's Agreement</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescroller/pseuds/wild_one'>wild_one (thescroller)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Henry Cavill - Fandom, Superman - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, somewhat slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:07:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescroller/pseuds/wild_one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Cavill x Reader </p><p>--- All work and no play finds you in dire need of a wedding date. Desperate you turn to a friend who directs you to a sort of ‘service’ she had used several months prior when she went to her high school reunion, swearing up and down it was the best two weeks of her life. They were discreet, they knew all the right tics for the occasions and they were good-looking. What could it hurt?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Cavill &amp; You, Henry Cavill/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>Chapter One </strong>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>Eighteen days until the wedding. </em>
</p><p>The lace bordered wedding invitation was mocking you with your all too confident choice to RVSP for two. No matter where you looked at your desk, your eyes drew back to the damned thing like it was a cursed object insulting your cockiness with glitter etched into the words. </p><p>You’re invited to the wedding of Javier De Leon and Marcy Wilson.</p><p>Even her name was glaring daggers into your soul with what could have been. “Ah, fuck it,” you stated to yourself, picking up the stupid thing and tossing it in the trash bin next to you. </p><p>“Fuck who?” </p><p>Swiveling around in your chair, you met Brie’s dark eyes, “No one apparently.” </p><p>Her eyebrow rose as she stood up from where she was sitting at her own little work area and strutted her way over to where you had angry tossed that sparkly piece of paper away. In her usual all too nosy manner, she reached down and picked the thing right up making you wish you had finished your yogurt sooner to cover the thing in. </p><p>“The wedding’s coming up?” </p><p>“Yep.” </p><p>A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, “And you still don’t have a date?” </p><p>“You’d be correct.” </p><p>Placing the invite right back where it had been gawking at you mere seconds ago. “Why don’t you have a date again?” </p><p>“You know,” you glared at her, really wishing that your eyes could shoot laser beams out of them. It’d be really useful in a moment like now. “I don’t have time.” </p><p>“But that pint of Ben and Jerry’s you keep having to replace in the back of your freezer could argue otherwise.” </p><p>With a groan, you leaned back, feeling the dip of your chair to the point it almost felt as if you were going to fall flat on your ass if you didn’t stop soon. “Why did I ever let you into my life?” </p><p>“I don’t think you really had a say in the matter,” she chuckled, leaning herself against the cubical wall that separated the two of you from the rest of the corporate office. “Plus, you know I would have elbowed my way in there somehow.” </p><p>She wasn’t wrong. The day you found yourself sitting in this exact spot five years ago, Brie made her presence known, walking over like she was the head honcho and introducing herself before promptly inviting you to after-work cocktails even though it was a Monday. The two of you liked to joke that she was your more adventurous half, doing crazy dance classes, bravely renting adult movies at hotels, and brazenly asking men for their numbers. </p><p>The craziest thing you had done since you started working at Saggino Law Firm was to break up with your boyfriend. The very boyfriend that wanted you to quit mere months after you got hired because he wanted you to stay home and practice being a Stepford wife. </p><p>Sitting back up, you looked at your friend. “My dumbass drank too much wine and totally thought I’d have a man in my life by now, so I RVSP’d for two. And that was well over a year ago.” </p><p>“I know. I was there.” </p><p>That glitter was glowing now. “I can’t show up without a date.” </p><p>She shifted a bit now, still leaving her arms crossed in that almost concerned motherly manner she always seemed to wear when it came to your dating life. “Who cares. Go stag. Sleep with one of the groomsmen.” </p><p>“My brother is one of them.” </p><p>“Then not him,” she shrugged like this was a basic math problem. “You’re hot as fuck, any one of them would be drooling to a get a night with you.” </p><p>You rolled your eyes, knowing that she loved to hype you up in an effort, or more so a hope, that you’d break out of your shell. “That’s not what my mother will say. She’ll point out how everything there could have been mine.” </p><p>“Again, who gives a fuck.” </p><p>“Sadly,” you gave her a sad little smile, “I do.” </p><p>Brie didn’t hide her annoyance at your answer, eyes narrowing before she stood up and made her way back over to her desk. Eyes following her, you watched as she slid open one of the top drawers, she staring at the contents for a moment before peeking around the fairly empty office area and pulling out something that looked like a credit card. Her back remained facing you, “Remember when I went to my high school reunion last year?” </p><p>“Of course, you tried to get me to go, said we could totally pull off some sort of lesbian sister thing to fuck with Daryl,” you remembered that conversation perfectly, it sounded hilarious at the time. “But then I got roped into something here. </p><p>“And I got a date.” </p><p>“Shocking.” </p><p>Her lips pursed now as she turned back to face you. “Don’t you want to know how I got one so quickly?” </p><p>Feigning some serious thought, you turned your chair completely around to face her and this mysterious card in his hand. “Flash some boob? Promise an array of sexual favors?” </p><p>“Just make me sound like a hooker why don’t you,” when your mouth opened to reiterate, Brie held up a finger. “Don’t.” </p><p>Staying quiet you smirked at your best friend as she made her back over to where you had barely moved an inch. The card in her hand sounded heavy as she placed it down on your desk when you spun to see what it was, you were surprised to see the thing was completely blank. It didn’t have any numbers and when you flipped it over it was lacking the strip that all credits cards have. </p><p>“What’s this?” </p><p>“The answer to your problems.” </p><p>Your eyebrows had to have been lost in your hairline now. “I fail to see how a blank card will help me.” </p><p>Brie sighed slightly, leaning forward so that her head was perfectly covered by the felt wall in front of you. “When you bailed on me, I found this,” she picked the card up by a fingernail now, tilting it towards the two of you until the light reflected in just the right angle to reveal a trail of numbers. “They are called ‘A Gentleman’s Agreement.’ And trust me they live up to the name.” </p><p>“You used an escort service?” You squealed trying to keep your voice level, but the highs and cracks gave away. “Brie, what the hell?” </p><p>She shushed you quickly, poking her head up to steal a glance around before ducking back down to meet your criticizing glare. “Don’t give me that look, listen,” she flicked the card over once more, dropping it now, “these men are used for things like this. Weddings, reunions, bring home to mom to get her to stop asking questions, some are booked out for months. I’m told even some celebrities have been known to use this service.”</p><p>“They’re escorts,” you stated again slowly. “I have to pay someone to spend the night with me.” </p><p>“It’s not like you have to sleep with them.” </p><p>You stared at the card, sliding it away from you like it was growing some sort of fungus. “I still have to pay for them.” </p><p>“It’s your choice,” Brie continued as if your concerns weren’t clear to her. “Owen was amazing for the reunion. He kept his hands on me, was beyond respectful, and even got good old Lana to give me the side-eye.”</p><p>“Owen?” </p><p>“Yes, Y/N, they have names.” </p><p>You stared at the card now, still keeping it a safe distance from your fingertips now. “I don’t know… this sounds like too much work.” </p><p>“They have a refund policy.” </p><p>Something about the way she said that made you actually happy that you didn’t eat your yogurt from earlier. “Jesus woman, they are people.” </p><p>“Men,” she corrected. “They are men who know what they are doing. Owen was a well-deserved lay and I’d be lying to you if I didn’t admit that I haven’t been able to get some dick like that since then.” </p><p>Your mind was spinning. A male escort service, something your best friend took a chance with and was raving about like it was the best burger in the city. Once more Brie stressed that it was a no-pressure kind of agreement, apparently, on their website, they list their rules of what they can and won’t do per client; but stated that everyone was tested regularly and background checks were a must. They had pricings and profiles to flip through and a survey to fill out to gauge just what you needed and could make suggestions. </p><p>It was literally a meat market at your fingers tips. </p><p>“Just think about it,” your friend finally said, sliding the discreet business card closer to you. “You can either take me to this beach filled extravaganza and really fuel the route of your sexuality with your family or you take the risk and have a really good time with someone who’s going to be exactly what you need.” </p><p>
  <em>Exactly what you need. </em>
</p><p>Goddammit. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Two //</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Seventeen days until the wedding. </em>
</p><p>That night you went back to your empty apartment, pulled out a bottle of scotch you had been saving for a special occasion, and pour yourself a glass so high that it would have made a bartender cringe. The whole ride home, you weighed the pro and cons of using this particular benefit your friend was offering you. </p><p>You had grilled her on the prices, worried that you’d be doing more damage into your savings account than was really worth it for a stupid date. Apparently, the prices varied by the consort and what they felt their time was worth. The company just took a percentage out of what each gentleman quoted their guests. </p><p>By the time you had reached your destination, you decided that checking out the website wouldn’t hurt. At the very least you’d get to look at some attractive men for free, right?</p><p><em>AGA</em>, as the website stated, was very similar to a job searching website. The names of men scattered across the top as well as likes and dislikes before you were prompted to make an account and feel out the survey needed to match you with the appropriate man. You had enough scotch in your system by this point, second glass to be exact, that you had no problems typing in your e-mail, that spam account everyone has, as well as some basic details about yourself. </p><p>While the booze was making you the kind of confident you knew got you into this mess, to begin with, you cringed and remembered there was a reason online dating wasn’t your scene. How does one even put into words the things about themselves that would attract someone of the opposite sex? </p><p>Regardless, you pushed through, answering questions to the best of your ability and you were pleasantly surprised to see that there was zero mention of any sexual encounters anywhere in the small print. Sure, your best friend had slept with her man of the evening, but that was her choice. Casual sex was not something you really strived for when out on the town, spending the night with a complete stranger and waking up to find a kidney gone in the middle of the night was not the kind of foreplay you were into. </p><p>Of course, you also spent way too much time watching crime shows when you couldn’t sleep. </p><p>
  <em>
    <strong>RESULTS PENDING…</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Even though you had voiced your revulsion at the idea of hired help, you still found yourself oddly excited to see your choices. If it was a little off-putting to think that you were going to have your “choice” of men, something you never in a million years thought would be a thing for you. </p><p>Just as quickly as you could take a sip out of your cup did a list of five men appear on the screen. </p><p>Based on your answers, we’d recommend…. </p><p>
  <em>Henry Cavill/ 37 years old </em>
  <br/>
  <em>Joshua Dagger/ 30 years old</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Pierre O’Hare/ 32 years old </em>
  <br/>
  <em>Dean Smith/ 35 years old </em>
  <br/>
  <em>Marvin Morelos/ 21 years old</em>
</p><p>It was a no-brainer to cross the twenty-one year old off the list, seeing that he was barely the legal drinking age and you didn’t want to feel like you had babysit all night.  A little bit deeper into research and you had narrowed it down to two of the gentlemen; Henry and Dean. </p><p>Both seemed to be well versed in their lives, having some sort of education behind their belt, but the only offputting thing about Dean Smith’s profile was the massive blank space in the timeline from the time he was twenty to thirty. Like he was hiding something and that only gave you missing kidneys, jailhouse vibes. </p><p>Background check your ass. </p><p>You pushed away from the countertop you had been leaning on to this whole time, the anxiety of what you were doing not allowing you to sit still for longer than five seconds. “No, nope, I don’t think I can do this,” you spoke to yourself, shaking your head, “This is all too weird.” </p><p>As of the universe was yelling at your for being such a wet blanket, a little green dot popped up next to the name of Henry Cavill. ‘Online,’ read the little blinking light, calling you towards it like a moth to the flame. </p><p>Staring at the little dot, remembering that one of the options was to message the men before making arrangements to see if you were a good fit. The cursor hovered over the message button as you caught yourself being the ever indecisive person you always were before another part of your mind seemed to take over. </p><p>“Fuck it,” you mumbled, hands on the keys now as you typed out a quick message. </p><p>
  <em>Good evening Mr. Cavill, I’m looking into inquiring about your services for an event coming up over the next two weeks. </em>
</p><p>You hit send before you had the chance to cringe at how it read like some sort of work e-mail instead of a proposition for, as Brie put it, a good time. </p><p>
  <em>Evening Miss Y/L/N, his reply was almost instant. I’d be more than happy to accommodate however needed. Please forgive me, I’m not the best at doing the more interview like portion online. Could I interest you in a cup of coffee sometime soon? </em>
</p><p>The directness of his answer threw you off a bit. You had got it in your head that this could be a lot like online dating, where the two of you would talk for a bit behind the comfort of a glowing screen until it was time for the big day to happen. </p><p>Letting the scotch do its thing, you shrugged, typing out your reply and hitting send without giving it more than a two-second thought. </p><p>
  <em>Can you do tomorrow around 4? </em>
</p><p>Another flash reply from the mysterious Mr. Cavill,<em> Absolutely. Starbucks on 23rd? </em></p><p>
  <em>I’ll be there. </em>
</p><p>----</p><p>Because you had trust issues, you arrived at the agreed-upon location thirty minutes early, a fresh coat of lipstick been applied and you were on your second espresso and praying that you didn’t vibrate out of your seat while you waited for the mystery man to appear. You learned the hard way last night that the only way you could properly see someone’s pictures through AGA was to pay a subscription and fee and that was not something you were willing to commit to at the moment. </p><p>Glancing at your wrist you clocked the time, seeing it was five to four and Brie was blowing up your phone to make sure you were still in one piece - per your request of course. </p><p>“Y/N?” A smooth, lightly accented voice came from before you causing your to shoot your head up at whiplash speed. </p><p>The man standing before you was far from what you had been picturing in your mind; tall, muscular and dressed in a white button-down and dark slacks - he looked more like one of those action figures your brother used to play with when he was a child. Even though there had been nothing but rave reviews from various sources on the internet, your best friend, and some YouTube video you had found advertising the service as a “helping hand,” you still found yourself dumbfounded by who was offering you a shy side smirk across from you. </p><p>“Mister Cavill?” You asked, cautiously. </p><p>“Ah,” his smile grew now. “Please, call me Henry.” </p><p>A nod was all you could offer before you stood from your spot, sticking your hand out towards the giant of a man. “Uhm, sorry, Henry, thank you so much for coming.” </p><p>That smile stayed in place as his hand appeared to overtake your own. “It was my idea after all.” </p><p>“Right, yes,” you stated, embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “Sorry, this is all very new to me.” </p><p>His head tilted towards you as he gestured to your chair, allowing you to sit back down before he followed in the open seat across from you. “Want to hear a confession?” </p><p>“Are you a serial killer?” You blurted out, all the nervousness of the day bubbling over in a very inappropriate question. </p><p>His laugh was low and rumbled through his body in a wave, but his eyes stayed on you with curiosity. “Not that I’m aware of.” </p><p>“I’m so, so sorry,” you said with a shake of your head, reaching for your small cup of espresso in an effort to hide your shame. “As I said, I’ve never done something like this before.” </p><p>“Neither have I.” </p><p>Your cup paused mid-air as you looked at the devilishly handsome man across for you. Even sitting, he seemed to overtake the space he was in, dwarfing the chair behind him and for a split second, you thought about how ridiculous he would look holding the very teacup you were holding. </p><p>It was enough that you almost giggled at the image. </p><p>“You mean,” you put the little mug down now, leaning forward with interest now. “I’m your first?” </p><p>If you didn’t know any better you could have sworn the blue-eyed god of a man before you, was blushing ever so slightly. “That’s one way to put it.” </p><p>“Wait! Really? You’ve never done this before.” </p><p>His slight smile grew sheepish now as the little barista went out of her way to come over and ask if he needed anything. Henry was quick to say that when he knew what he wanted he’d head up to the line with everyone else, as the petite blonde slunk away back towards her spot behind the counter, his attention turned back to you. </p><p>With a sigh, he adjusted himself, probably feeling very uncomfortable in the small chair. “I signed up on a whim last week. I, uhm, I need the extra cash.” </p><p>“And I need a date.” </p><p>Leaning forward, his elbows teetered on the edge of the table now. “That’s why we are here, right?” When you nodded, he continued. “Why don’t you explain to me what you are looking for.” </p><p>This was what you were really dreading the most, trying to explain everything without sounding like a total crazy person. “Okay, it’s a lot, so if you were really serious about getting a coffee, you should probably do that now.”</p><p>Henry’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as his head bobbed towards you before he stood up. Turning ever so slightly, he kept his eyes on you, “Do you need another one?” </p><p>The espresso was now gone and you considered getting another one to help you keep the focus of what was at hand and no how handsome this man was. Begrudgingly you shook your head up towards him, “No, thank you, any more and I might have to run home.” </p><p>That grin was back as he turned on his heel and stood in the line, allowing you to watch the same little blonde from earlier eagerly taking over for another one of her co-workers in an effort to talk to the man. You had to give her props though because she was doing everything in her power to keep his attention. </p><p>Your phone pulsated on the table in front of you, <em>Still alive?</em></p><p>
  <em>If I don’t have a heart attack, yes. </em>
</p><p>“Sorry,” Henry returned a large paper to-go cup in his hand and a familiar brown bag in the other. “There was a mix up so I got a free cookie out of it.” </p><p>Eyeing the back of the bag, you grinned to yourself. “Or someone wanted to give you their number.” </p><p>“What?” Flipping over the crinkling paper, he inspected the scribbled out string of numbers with a little heart next to it. “How rude.” </p><p>That little tint of an accent was back and it made your stomach clench. “Might want to save it for another day.” </p><p>“Anyone that is bold enough to do that when I’m clearly here on a date is not worth my time,” he stated matter of factly while pulling the oversized chocolate chip out of its enclosure and throwing the thin bag down on the table, plopping the chocolatey goodness on top. “Feel free to help yourself.” </p><p>A little taken aback by his devotion to the role, you waited a moment, stealing a glance to where the same barista was intently staring at the back of Henry’s head before reaching over and breaking off a piece. “Thanks.”</p><p>There was a pause as he took a slow sip of his drink, eyeballing you over the lid. “Ready whenever you are, love.” </p>
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